dear old world...

𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, ── 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭

[storytelers]

#storytelers, ind. selective, mutuals-only multimuse blog, featuring muses primarily from literature and sci-fi sources. primarily headcanon based. very plot-focused! blog intertwined with @owedfavors and @eclipscd / always accepting and encouraging memes! adored and grown by odette ( 29, gmt-3, she/her ).

this blog is currently on semi-hiatus! will drop sporadic replies according to my whims!

FEATURED MUSES OF THE MOMENT: thimble & julien (critical role campaign 4), jester (critical role campaign 2), nikolai lantsov (shadow and bone), amy march (little women)

LINKS ── carrd / memes / @nursc

[movedtoknightfalling]

it's funny how logic flies right out of the window when it comes to someone you love. lucy knew the odds, knew the risks, everything there could possibly be when it comes to organ donation and she still sat in the chair and let them test her. this was nearly always going to be the result, but if there was a chance. even if it was minuscule, she would have done it without blinking, without hesitation.

she knows john's thoughts on the matter without asking. it's why she never told him she had the test done. why she held onto the vain thread of hope for them both. only he's found out anyway.

lucy's drawn into her husband's arms and she feels a roll of guilt flood through her body. he's the one who needs a donor, who needs to find a match and yet he's the one comforting her. she can't even hide her face away, john's a step ahead of her in that regard too. "i know, but-" there's no but. it's empirical fact. logic. lucy hates logic right now.

"but i'm just worried about you. if i could have..." she shrugs. there's no point in ending her sentence. because she can't. there's no chance about it. she wants to hide her face, but the fingers tilting her chin up prevent her from doing so. "i'm scared. you've been through so much and i- and i can't see you hurt like that again."

[storytelers]

she is speaking of fairness and he finds himself wanting to loan in and kiss the frown smooth from her brow. another part of him wants to do the opposite. wants to lecture her, to ask if she's learned nothing at all in the last twenty years, or if private practice made her soft?

but he likes his bed. and the idea of sleeping alone in the guest house because he decided to lecture his dear wife about genetics is not exactly appealing. so, for once in his life, john carter holds his tongue.

there is no such thing fairness. there has never been anything remotely resembling fairness in this world and especially in his life. things don't balance, they fall. the pieces have always come down from the sky just at the wrong angles, striking his back again and again before it ever had a chance to straighten, keeping him bent and close to the ground where he could see things clearly.

❛⠀ and i can't see you beating yourself up for something you have no control over, ⠀ ❜ he rebukes, a bit of the professor lecture he had swallowed down coming through in his tone. ❛⠀ it is that. and don't worry too much about me, or else i'm going to start complaining and you'll never have a moment of peace again. ⠀ ❜

[movedtoknightfalling]

to say lucy's confused was the understatement of the century. she's lost and confused, being dragged through the house by meredith. her mind's a mess, stuck somewhere between the confusion and panic as she's pulled down a corridor she's never been before. however, there's a deep set trust buried somewhere deep under the surface. if only for it being john's sister. it's what keeps lucy moving and not yanking her arm away. another distribution? the words don't make senses. rarely anything meredith says makes much sense, but she's beating her own records today. "gamma's closet?" lucy asks dumbly, still not understanding. she stares at the door, realising meredith wants her to open the doors she's standing before. it takes a moment, she's almost hesitant as she steps forward, but she finally opens the door and steps inside. looking around, blue eyes are wide a she takes in the largest "closet" that she's ever seen. it put's john's monogrammed shirts to shame in an instant. "i- this is... wow..."

[storytelers]

with the path to wonderland open, meredith wastes no time shooing lucy inside, ushering her through the doorway and snapping it shut behind them with a quiet, conspiratorial click. time's-a-wastin'! ❛ the thing is, gamma's always had amazing taste. not just clothes, mind you, but fabrics too, so almost everything she's bought from the moment she married grandpa and got herself an unlimited bank account is here. fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties, the best from every decade. and of course, my babies, ❜ she monologues, keeping a steady around the room, sweeping lucy along until she stops short in front of a wall devoted entirely to shoes. ❛ i missed you. ❜

[cinemapix]

I think you're probably an amazing teacher.

[storybookodysseyhasmoved]

the shake of her head is subtle and soft. "are you crazy? i'm not letting the kids near these until they can afford to buy them themselves. otherwise we'll never hear the end of it. it's all they'll want to eat." when frank refuses, abby's eyes flicker towards him, assessing him with eyes that have known him too well for too long. "go and get a container, frank."

her words and tone are light, but it's clear that it's not a request. even now, there's no one she'll share these cookies with. especially not their kids. and if she can't finish them on her own, then she's going to share them with someone who she knows will appreciate them.

she chews on the last part of her cookie, ruminating on his words and the effect that they had on her. it wasn't an instinct she could turn off overnight, even after it's been weeks since they've spent an overnight under the same roof. she still knows him. almost better than she knows herself. "you know, if you tell me you're good one more time, then i might believe you." but for now she didn't. not even close.

[storytelers]

frank stops in front of her, container in hand. he could joke, it wouldn't be an unfamiliar sight, it's how he's dealt with most things for the past decade, but he's different now. still the same man, smart-ass comment still came to him in an instant, but there's a new layer of paint over his bones and he is trying to let it hold.

❛ abbs, ❜ he says, catching her eye, knees bending just slightly so she can't bolt past him. ❛ you're gonna have to start believing in me again someday. there is no schedule, you've earned your distrust, you don't need to tell me. but one of these days, when i say i'm good, you're gonna have to trust i'm telling you the truth. ❜

❛ that said, i just remembered i work eighty-hour shifts and i shouldn't say no to food. ❜

@storybookodyssey

[storybookodysseyhasmoved]

one day he'd win. maybe this saturday. whatever the hell a potluck was, he was certain that they could miss it. he made to follow her, his fingers delicately wrapping around her wrist to stop her from fiddling with her hair any further. knows that she'll just regret it even more when she next catches a glance of herself in the mirror.

"well, if we don't know what it is, then we can't go. what do you say? you, me, your bedroom, saturday? sounds like a good plan to me." his other hand slips to her waist, drawing her in closer to him. "if they can't explain it, then they don't deserve you being there. it's only fair."

[storytelers]

there is a protest on her lips when he stills her hand. she is halfway to turning, ready to give him a piece of her mind, when his arm slips around her waist, drawing her back until her spine meets the plane his chest. it turns out, she doesn't give a damn about her curls, letting them smush between them as she melts. damn him, she's never been good at walking away.

❛⠀ cause these are our friends and we never see them? ⠀❜ katie tilts her head up as she speaks, nose brushing against his jaw, warm little puffs of breath ghosting over his neck., ❛⠀ it'll be hard asking them to be in our bridal party if they don't even remember our names. ⠀❜

@storybookodyssey

[eclipscd]

❛ aww, that must be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me! ❜ though she means it ironically it.. may not actually be so far from the truth, even if he intends it as an insult — which she has little doubt he does, as if he might so diminish her importance by labeling her 'trivial.' lottie is not so easily dismissed. ).

❛ well, since you're being sweet... it's only fair. would you like to tell me now what has you plotting a descent into rascalhood? ❜ if he even remembers, now that she's made this all about her for the past five minutes — though, considering the man's ability to hold a grudge, lottie isn't so concerned about the strength of his memory. ❛ I'm quite a good listener. ❜

[storytelers]

❛ did i say such a thing? ❜ he wanders out loud. the problem with talking to lottie rose is that his mouth moved faster than his brain, leaving him to catch up about what sort of new trouble he got himself into. didn't he accuse her of not being cool enough to be a rascal? well, if she is not cool enough, then he must have said he was a rascal, it was only logical, after all. ❛ oh, yes. i did. sweet of you to remember my words so exactly. ❜

finally he remembered what consumed him before she started talking. ❛ you see, i have a little problem that starfleet can't solve or know about... ❜

[eclipscd]

❛ it would make you sound insane, you mean! ❜ her reputation, lottie feels with confidence, would emerge fully unscathed. mostly. it would, she might have to concede, make her seem gossipy, and that didn't seem like a reputation conducive to her successful career efforts on the station. she may not be a therapist, but her research did require that others trust her with information.

lottie doesn't want to grant him peace of mind by voicing as much, however, even though he's not particularly abashed by his appalling behaviour. instead, she grins. ❛ but giving up a secret instead of taking advantage of it? that's just a waste of potential. ❜

[storytelers]

❛ ⠀no, no! you're not paying attention to me, but that is not exactly a suprise, is it?⠀ ❜

psychologists. all they want to do is blabber on and on about their opinions and problems, and never bother hearing a word anyone has to say! ❛ ⠀i have been living at this station for years and you just got here. what are the odds you got something tasty like my jam hand before anyone else?⠀ ❜

shaking his head, julian is quite sure this will be their little secret. blackmail is only effective if you let it; she can crow and caw, but she won't be able to take advantage of it, and besides -- ❛ ⠀you now have to live with the knowledge that i could be eating jam like that right at that instant. ⠀ ❜

[wulfhalls]

john: im normal about margaret

john after someone threw one (1) small pebble in margarets general direction:

[owedfavors]

if he so hated to disagree with her, he would do it with a far rarer frequency — and their conversations would fade into the tedium that generally accompanied just about any conversation she holds with anyone outside of etienn's household. she would hate for him not to disagree with her.

❛ I would note that it's you closing the door in your hypothetical scenario. the agency therefore is yours, and not that of the door, which will stand ajar if undisturbed and has no ability to close itself. your modification has wandered too far: you're no longer discussing agency in the sense of the ability to make decisions and act independently, but rather of influence. in which case I do still think a book makes a more comparable object, but that is neither here nor there. ❜

[storytelers]

pike's gaze shifts between the open door and the strange, almost alien woman in front of him a few times. maybe he should close it. have someone else prove his point by walking in and catching them alone in a darkened room, see if she'll have a convincing argument regarding the agency of a door then.

it might also clue her into the fact he's been courting with her for weeks with no success. ❛ i'd knew you would complain i changed your analogy, ❜ he mumbles, running a hand through his mouth, smothering a laugh. ❛ where do you draw the distinction between agency and influence? a door is a portal. it can create, close, even break, it does not merely influence as you state. ❜

[owedfavors]

perhaps it is an unusual way to conceive of any object, but her point stands and, really, was there a better way to put it? certainly not one so succinct, even if he now quibbles with it. quibbles instead, una notes, of answering her question. she might dig her heels in, repeat the question and refuse to be deterred by anything until he'd explained just what folly had been involved. ultimately, she supposes it doesn't really matter. he's in sufficient possession of his faculties to counter her as he always does, and knowing the source does little to undo any damage regardless.

and so she lets it go — but not the matter of inanimate agency. ❛ the movement of a door is entirely governed by the laws of physics, no different than any other household inanimate object. applied force, be it a person, object, or wind. gravity. if you know those factors, it's wholly predictable. that's no more agency than a book placed precariously on a shelf falling to gravity. ❜

[storytelers]

the accused door, the one that bruised both face and ego, vanishes from his mind.

in its stead, christopher focuses solely on her. he knows the focus is not mutual; some corner of her mind keeps whirring as she unravels what happened.

❛ you do know how much i hate to disagree with you, ❜ he murmurs with a tilt of his chin, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, ❛ yet you cannot place a book and a door on equal footing where agency is concerned. though, if you'll allow me, i'm going to slightly modify your comparison, or we shall wander too far. let us see, ah, here! take this globe over here. oh, i can move it around, and so could a strong wind, but it's presence does not alter the characteristics of this room. ❜ hand rests over the globe, closing over the pole as his fingers tap-tap across europe. ❛ a door is quite a different thing. if i stood up and closed the door behind you, i would bar anyone else from disturbing our conversation, or from seeing what we were up to. ❜

[nursc-archive]

christine chapel’s personal log … i encountered a species that hasn’t interacted with humans or vulcans for centuries. i convinced them to help me with an ancient medical procedure. [ what sort of medical procedure? ] you can read about it in my paper when it comes out later this year. i would consider applying again, but, you know, the truth is… i don’t think your fellowship is ready for me.

[owedfavors]

⤷ ✧ @storytelers said, ❝ however, you are quite right. let me be more specific. a door ran into me. ❞

disapproval had stilled the light touch of fingers beside the bruising upon his brow, and self-satisfied though he may be at the explanation turned on its head, now she drops her hand to fold her arms before her. ❛ and you allowed it? considering that of you and the door, only you have agency over your movements... the responsibility to avoid a collision would still seem to return to you. ❜

and really, she thinks, to hit one's head against a door — or permit a door to run into one's head — adds an extra level of indignity to the whole proceedings. ❛ what could you possibly have been doing to run into a door? ❜

[storytelers]

a quiet noise of discontent rumbles past his lips when she pulled away. it was rare for her to initiate... well, anything, really. he'd quite forgotten himself when her hand brushed his brow and started spouting nonsense to see that stubborn smile up close. instead, she pulled away.

❛ i have never heard of a door being described in regards to its agency, ❜ he notes. ❛ i've never considered the agency of a door, but out of all household inanimate objects, it certainly is the one with the most agency. ❜

[inquisitiveg]

A N G E L Rivals (2024-)

[storytelers]

finally rolling back here this week, i'm gonna stick on @nursc for the next few days, get my drafts there down, but holler at me (preferably there or on discord) to plot with the following peeps: taggie o'hara, clara oswald, emily wilde, julien davinos, tenth doctor, pls and thank you!!

[nastalaima]

extravagant doesn't begin to describe jester's plans. yasha scratches at her scalp, fingers snagging in her braids. there's a dozen logistical complications another might question jester about ( including but not limited to the purchasing of a cake large enough for a full-grown human to jump into ). yasha asks none of them, deterred by one singular point. ❛ the cake isn't for eating? I guess it would be too big... we'd all be sick. ❜

does nott even like sweets? yasha thinks over what little she knows of the goblin ( what little she knows of any of them ) and isn't sure she knows the answer. but though she may have little to offer, though she may scarcely know those whose steps sometimes tread alongside her own, she does know one thing. it concerns her not in the slightest that the though, when voiced, seems wholly incongruous to jester's intended party festivities. ❛ rats. there should be rats. nott would like that. ❜

[storytelers]

❛ ⠀for your party the cake is going to be for eating.⠀ ❜

and for her own party, jester rather hoped someone would remember she's mentioned once or twice that her favorite cake is chocolate with cinnamon frosting (and that it should have at least three layers). but something like that wouldn't do for nott. what she ordered was dreadful. possibly illegal. a creation unfit for anything with manners or a conscience. even the traveller was a bit put out by her drawing. but it was what nott would want. and jester, who'd barter away her good sense for her friends to smile, did what had to be done.

❛ ⠀no! no! shoosh!⠀ ❜ slapping a hand over yasha's mouth, she looked back at the camp. ❛ ⠀you are going to ruin the surprise,⠀ ❜ she says, removing her fingers one by one, but keeping close to yasha, peering up at her with big violet eyes. ❛ ⠀you are much better at this than beau. i'm gonna make you my second-in-command.⠀ ❜

[movedtoknightfalling]

it's late. lucy's nose deep in her textbook, preparing for surgery the next day. if she doesn't read up now, she knows that dr benton will never let her forget about it. it's in part her own fault. earlier that evening she had spied the communal dorm phone was free and she's snagged the opportunity whilst she had it. dialing dr weaver's john's number, two hours passes in the blink of an eye and lucy's struggling to feel guilty for it. she'd barely had a chance to see him that day, between back to back surgeries, she'd only made it down to the er once during her long shift.

now she's paying for her crimes, blinking back the sleep in her eyes as she attempts to absorb the information on the page. it's no surprise then that lucy startles when the door suddenly opens. that and the fact that half of the time she forgets she even has a roommate. between her nights once spent in the ra's room, nights in dr weaver's john's basement, shift work and a perpetually missing roommate. lucy can scarcely recall the last time she laid eyes on emily. emily? it was emily, right? thoughts of her name are quickly vanquished from lucy's mind however as she glances at the clock in a panic at the greeting.

it's fine. it's fine. it's late, but not that late.

"hi... i feel like i haven't seen you in forever."

[storytelers]

❛ the library closed. ❜

that's the extent of her explanation. she moved about the room with unconscious precision, tidying up the few things she misplaced when her thoughts had wandered elsewhere. lucy's belongings, too, got put back to their original places. it was neither kindness nor passive aggressive roommate behaviour, merely her mind insisting that things should go back to where they belonged.

outside her books, she had no concept of what was hers and what was olivia's.

❛ you've been busy, as well. ❜